A Brief Biography of an Author

He has no children.

But the fire in him
coming out as ink

Has impregnated many minds.

Stained

I remember the night when
under the moon's caring light
we kissed.

And I thought I had left my mark on you.

I wish I knew my fault.
my prides, my vanities, painful all.

For you have moved, and you have gained, but
by your memories

I am stained.